


Prologue

by Mercury Starlight (WoolandWater)



Series: The Young Ones - Love & Mobsters [1]
Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Funny, Gen, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 19:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1830277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoolandWater/pseuds/Mercury%20Starlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Timeline: June 1984 </p><p>The boys have a day that feels remarkably similar to a day they've already lived. But a drastic turn will change all of their lives forever. </p><p>Takes place immediately after the end of the canon series. Contains multiple references to the events of Summer Holiday.</p><p>This fic is highly recommended prior to reading any of my other TYO fics, with the exception of Funny. Everything else is heavily dependent on this story, as it is the establishing setting for the series' AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prologue

"Whew! That was close!"

The bus exploded in a giant fireball and everything, _everything_ went hot, then fuzzy, then black.

*****

Neil shot awake in a cold sweat. He was in his bedroom, safe and warm and relatively comfortable. He heard Rick yell from across the hall, as if he'd also been startled awake. He sat up and threw his trousers on. When he got to the hallway, Rick was standing in his doorway, slowly tying his robe in confusion. Mike wandered down the stairs in much the same state; hand on the railing as though he expected it to vanish at any moment. Vyvyan's door burst open and he stumbled through, as surprised as the rest of them.

"Weren't we just…" Rick began, and then drifted away as if he'd forgotten not only what he was going to say, but something else, something more.

Neil tried to figure out what he might have been trying to say, and couldn't. It felt as if something terribly important was just on the tip of his tongue, the tip of his _brain_ , but he couldn't grasp it anymore and eventually it slipped away entirely. It felt as if he'd just awoken from the most realistic dream he'd ever had, but he couldn't remember a bit of it. Then he couldn't remember that either and the four of them were just standing in the hallway staring at each other for no discernible reason.

They shared bewildered looks all around, then shrugged and headed downstairs for breakfast. The phone rang. Neil didn't even bother trying to get one of the other guys to answer it.

*****

"Rick, it's for you."

Rick groaned. He'd just sat down at the table. And coming downstairs after finding himself suddenly in the hallway with no recollection of how he'd got there was disorienting at best. He wasn't sure he was up to a phone call.

"Well who is it? Is it important or something?"

"It's your Aunt Pauline, she sounds upset."

"Ugh, Aunt Pauline is _always_ upset. I'm not here!"

"He says he's not here."

Neil yanked the phone away from his ear and the very clear sound of Rick's aunt shrieking wafted over to the kitchen.

"RICHARD PERCIVAL HADRIAN PRATT YOU COME TO THE TELEPHONE THIS INSTANT!"

All the color left Rick's face and he ignored the snickers of the others at his full name as he leapt from the table and grabbed the phone away from Neil.

"Hi Auntie Pauline," he said in a sickly sweet and horribly fake tone that made the other three cringe, "How ever so nice of you to call, I've just-…"

His face fell, then he frowned. He furrowed his brow. His eyes darkened. He looked furious.

" _WHAT_!? WHEN? HOW?...But…Yes, but…my train arrives at seven, who's going to pick me up now? What do you mean, 'in what'?...I don't care if it's wrapped around the North bloody Pole, hasn't somebody got another car? I'm supposed to come home today and somebody had bloody well be at the station when I'm- Oh SHUT UP, woman, you're not the one being stood up at the bloody- hello?...Hello?"

Rick slammed the receiver down and stalked back into the kitchen.

"Blubbering. Inconsiderate old bag. Call back when _I'm_ feeling civil? Witch. I can't believe this! How am I supposed to take my final exams now?"

"My condolences, Rick," Neil said earnestly.

"Thanks," Rick muttered, chewing his fingernails. He looked up at him suddenly, "Your condolences on what?"

"On your parents' untimely demise, I'd expect," Vyvyan said absent-mindedly, pouring himself some tea.

"Oh." Rick went back to his nails. He looked up suddenly, puzzled and surprised, "Could you hear my aunt just now?"

Mike looked up from his paper. Vyvyan shrugged, Neil and Mike shook their heads.

"…Did I actually… _say_ anything about my parents just now? Or about anybody dying?"

They all looked at each other in confusion again. The other three shook their heads.

"Well they did, the selfish bastards. I've been dreaming about shedding you lot all term and now I'm stuck without a ride home from the station. How did you know?"

They shrugged. Vyvyan narrowed his eyes, "Did you know before you went to the phone?"

"I…I think…I might have."

"Whoa guys," Neil flailed his hands over his head and for once, they all shared his trepidation, "Guys this is really freaky and weird!"

"Well, that's all the _Twilight Zone_ eeriness I'll put up with for one morning. Never mind breakfast," Mike folded his paper and headed upstairs, "You three'd better get to class, it's the last day of finals after all."

Mike, Neil and Vyvyan shuffled upstairs, still shaking their heads in confusion. Vyvyan clapped Rick on the shoulder as he passed him and Rick just sank into a kitchen chair and stared at the wall a while before he got ready for school.

*****

Vyvyan wandered around the garden, "God I'm bored. Term only finished four hours ago and already…I'm…" he drifted off and turned to face Mike, who was reading in his lawn chair.

"What's that feeling where you've done something over again?"

"Redundancy."

"No, no, like when you say something, but it's like you remember saying it-"

"Déjà vu," Rick said suddenly from behind him. Vyvyan jumped and whirled on him and Rick flinched out of instinct.

"When did you get there? How did I know you were going to be there?" Vyvyan demanded and Rick shrugged.

He wandered over to Vyvyan's chair and sat down wearing a dour expression, "I've been getting déjà vu all day. The strangest sort of déjà vu I've ever had. My communications final was practically precognitive. What's funny is, along with the déjà vu I keep remembering things that I think are going to happen, but don't. But I _remember_ them! They happened! Am I going mad?"

"If you are, I'm going with you," Vyvyan tipped Rick out of the chair. He sat down and kicked at him, "That's a frightening thought. Speaking of going, don't you have a train to catch?"

"I'm _not_ going, remember?" Rick didn't even bother to get up, he just moped at Vyvyan's feet, putting up with the occasional kick and only kicking back when it hurt, "I phoned my aunt back and she says nobody'll even be ready to pick me up until tomorrow, and then it'll only be for a few days, until after the funeral's over. She says I have to get all my things out of the house, she's selling it, apparently – the tight-fisted, Tory bastards barely left me anything at all. Fascists."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, I stopped listening after you opened your mouth and started making that awful racket. Don't bother repeating it, I don't care."

"Oh, Vyvyan!" Rick kicked at him even harder, and had to dodge kicks closer to his head, "Can't you lay off for a day out of respect for the dead or something?"

"The dead have no need for my respect, Prick, and besides it's not them I'm _un_ concerned with." The 'un' was punctuated by a particularly hard kick.

"Well you _have to_ be nice to me today," Rick started punctuating kicks himself, "I'm in _mourning_ because my _stupid_ , _self-centered_ parents decided to kick off and _abandon_ me here with you _yobbos_!"

"So, I guess you'll be spending your summer here, like the rest of…us," Mike said suddenly. The kicking stopped and both looked at him. He dropped his paper and hung his arms over his knees. It was clear he was spooked, even from behind his sunglasses. They didn't blame him – it sounded familiar to them too. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like, "But in the sitting room." He shook his head.

"I see your point about the mind-screw _en Français_ , gentlemen. That made the hairs stand up on the back of my otherwise cool and well-respected neck. I am going to make a dedicated effort not to do that again."

He stood and went back into the house. The other two shrugged at each other, Vyvyan helped Rick up, and they followed him.

*****

Mike clearly forgot his plan. Of course, Neil's birthday hadn't been a surprise to anyone, nor was that they were now sitting around bored and irritable at the lamest party ever thrown.

"Oh, look on the bright side, guys. At least the holiday can't get any worse."

The only thing any of them thought when the doorbell rang was they were glad Mr. Balowski decided not to use the front window. They let him just walk through the door, not bothering to get up.

"Hello my special boys, yes?" he pranced into the house and ruffled Rick and Neil's hair as they scowled and batted him away, "Is end-of-term pay-up time, yes? We go around and I tell you all the things you owe me, yes?"

They looked at each other – they all knew they were dead broke, and they wouldn't be able to pay a dime. Mike had stalled this long, but they'd been in the house two years rent-free now, and they knew it was the end of the line if a miracle didn't produce itself.

Mike managed to slip away as Jerzei took inventory. Jerzei never stopped writing. The other three followed him around at a hesitant distance.

"One beautiful refrigerator," he opened it, and the smell was nearly visible, "…Broken. That's another two-hundred pounds you owe me."

"Two-hundred?!?" Rick leapt forward, "For a twenty year old fridge? It was half-dead when we got it!"

"Interest, my funny English boy, interest!"

"Oh no, heavy!" Neil said, wringing his hands. Rick had another strange, precognitive flash. This time they were in a gutter, cold and hungry and dirtier than usual. And something else, something much worse, though the feeling was all he had. He looked at Vyvyan and Neil, and as far as he could tell, they shared the same dread. If something major didn't go differently today, possibly _right now,_ they were all going to die.

"So, totaling just the combined totals of the first floor, not including the cupboard under the stairs, comes to…£3,246.98. Give or take, I take a little off for my favorite boys, yes? Will that be cash or cheque? Ha! I make funny English joke! Now, we do the upstairs-"

"Not so fast!" Everyone turned to face the stairwell. Mike was back.

*****

The boys watched with trepidation as Mike sauntered casually down the stairs. He carried a huge, thick file, bulging with papers and wrapped with a few rubber bands. It took two hands to carry. He looked calm as could be.

"I have in my hands certain information about a certain Mister Jeremy Adam 'Jerzei' Balowski, and I'm certain you'll find its contents interesting."

He handed the file to their stunned landlord and crossed his arms. He smiled in satisfaction.

"That's a copy," he said, "The originals are safe in an undisclosed location."

Jerzei's eyes went wide and he tore the file open, flipping through in a panic. Occasionally he pulled out a page and looked at it in detail. The other three looked over his shoulder to see for themselves.

"What is it, Mike?" Neil asked anyway.

"That, my good hippie, is a full compendium of our dear landlord's extensive business enterprises," he pulled a cigar from his pocket and lit it, "I've been saving it for an emergency. Turns out our Jerzei's been quite a busy boy. In there, you'll find half a lifetime of fraud, forgery, petty larceny, grand larceny, money laundering, black marketeering, racketeering, Mouskateering, drug trafficking, weapons trafficking, human trafficking, and shall we say…'questionable' sexual practices. Among other things."

Jerzei came to an 8x10 glossy and the boys tilted their heads in an attempt to work out what they were seeing. They grimaced in disgusted fascination.

"Is…" Rick squinted at it, "Is that a lemur?"

Jerzei cleared his throat and put the photo back quickly, "It was a long weekend."

"How long your family been in with the Russian mafia, Jerz?" Mike asked casually. Jerzei shot him daggers.

"What do you want?"

"Oh, what do _I_ want? Is that what he asked me, gents? What do I _want_? What do _you_ want, Balowski? What do they want?" He gestured at his housemates with his cigar.

"What does anybody want? Money. Security. Little place of my own. If life's a rubbish skip, I'd rather be on the rim, you follow?"

"No." All four shook their heads and stared at him blankly.

"Just a few short days ago, I happened to make a potentially lucrative business contact. Fellow I met down the pub, white-collar's got a little dirty if you catch my meaning."

It was clear they didn't.

"Maybe if you tried it in English, Mike," Vyvyan suggested. Mike sighed. He rubbed his temples.

"All right, look. The guy's an accountant, and he's a crooked one. Well-established, been in the underworld most of his career. He's got a hundred contacts in the financial sector, a whole network ready and willing to make any amount of dirty money clean under any circumstance for a surprisingly low cut. Now, he's in the market, and all he needs is the income."

"What's it to do with me?" Jerzei was getting impatient.

"Hey listen, Jerz, I'm not a bad guy," Mike took him by the shoulder and led him aside, "I don't enjoy resorting to petty things like blackmail, and what you choose to do in your own home with a lacrosse team and a handful of exotic animals is your own business. I'm more interested in _my_ business. Maybe I'm interested in going _into_ business."

"Meaning?"

"Give me a few days to work out some details, contact my man on the inside, and I'll have a plan that'll benefit us, _all_ of us, with no need to worry about this messy little…information business," he gestured at the file.

Jerzei thought for a moment, then answered; in his British accent.

"Right, then. You're in luck, I've been looking for some new blood. But I'll tell you something, Mikey-boy," he shoved a finger in Mike's face, "you'd better not be jerkin' me around. This plan a' yours better be good, I'd just as soon kill ya."

He slammed the file shut, shoved it under his arm and stormed out. Mike watched him leave proudly. The other three shared more confused glances. Rick approached him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Ah, Mike? Hi, yes, um, what was that all about?"

"Not to worry, Rick. Give me time to think and this time next week we'll all be better off. I'm in my bedroom, lads, not to be disturbed except in case of extreme emergency or extremely attractive women."

He ran upstairs before anybody could stop him.

They looked at each other. This entire day was quickly becoming a constant stream of bewilderment.

"What happened?" Rick said.

"I think we just joined the mob," Vyvyan said.

"Oh no," Neil said, "I can't hassle people through organized crime, I'm a pacifist!"

"Wait, the mob? The _Russian_ mob? Gangsters? Machine guns? Gun molls? Guys with fedoras in long leather trench coats and tailored three-piece suits? All _right_!"

"Well, I think that's more of an Al Capone thing, actually Rick. I should think the Russian mob would be more sort-of, fur hats and meetings with the KGB-"

"Oh shut up, hippie! Who asked you? Just think of it! Right there on the ground, grunts in a criminal army! Cigars and casinos and international espionage!"

"And robbery, and extortion, and kidnapping and murder-" Vyvyan sounded positively wistful as he sat down and put his feet on the coffee table.

"What? Who said anything about murder?"

"Mobsters murder people. It's part of what makes them mobsters."

Rick sat down next to him, deflated, "But I don't want to murder people. Not _all_ of them murder people, Vyvyan, we don't have to be hit-men."

"Well we'd better be something, because Mike just got us into business with them."

"Some of them _do_ murder people," Neil grumbled, sitting on Vyvyan's other side, "If we don't go along, they'll probably murder us."

"He's got a point," Rick grabbed at Vyvyan's arm dramatically, "Cliff preserve us, he's got a point!"

"Shut up!" Vyvyan tore his arm away, "We're not going to get murdered."

"But we might!"

"Well, I'm not. I've got no trouble going along, I'm all for it. I bet Mike's going to end up making loads of cash and getting all sorts of girlies and I'm not missing out. You heard him, he said his plan'll benefit all of us."

"All of us doing what? We're not criminals!" Rick jumped up, chewing at his nails and clearly keeping panic at bay.

"I am," Vyvyan was still clearly unperturbed, "I practically minor in petty theft. Vandalism is my art of choice. If I were to get sentenced for everybody I've ever beaten up, I would never, _ever_ , get out of prison. I'd fit right in as a mobster. If you ask me, I think Mike's gonna' come up with something for each of us to do, like a specialty."

"That's stupid, Vyvyan, and anyway what good is Neil? There's a hole in your theory!"

"Well he's a hippie, he doesn't matter either way. But somebody's got to do the washing up, haven't they?"

"Hey!" said Neil, who had indeed wandered over to the kitchen and started washing dishes out of habit and nerves.

"Kill us, did you hear that? He said he'd just as soon kill us!" Rick's voice cracked and he flailed his hands, pacing behind the sofa.

"I don't know what you're worried about," Vyvyan shook his head, "It's nothing to do with you, you haven't got anything to contribute. You're completely useless."

"I AM NOT USELESS!"

"You are! Not a single thing you're good for. Don't see why we shouldn't just kick you out altogether."

Rick paled. What _did_ he have to contribute? Poetry was his gift to the world, and it didn't exactly extort money out of people, did it? Honestly, he didn't see why they didn't kick him out either, come to think of it. And where was he supposed to go, what with his aunt selling the house? His aunt…

"Ha! I've got you! I've got an _inheritance_ coming! All I have to do is graduate in the top thirty percent of my class and I've got a pretty hefty sum coming to me. I'm probably in the top ten! It's a contingency clause in the will, in case they snuff it before I've established myself. My aunt explained it all to me-"

"I thought you said they didn't leave you anything," said Vyvyan suspiciously.

"I _said_ they _barely_ left me anything. Honestly, Vyvyan, I didn't even get the _house_! Besides, don't you see? I don't need you lot at all! As soon as our grades are announced, I'm gone! Forget you!"

Rick practically skipped up the stairs into his room. Neil rolled his eyes and went to consult his star chart on the subject of criminal enterprise. Vyvyan sat on the sofa and tried to be happy at the prospect of not having Rick to kick around anymore. He kept being disappointed instead, and had to beat it out of his head with the coffee table.

Mike peered over his landing, notebook in hand, muttering to himself as he scribbled, "Vyvyan…violence…Neil…hippie…Rick…inheritance. Right, right, good. Very good."

*****

Mike worked out his plan in far fewer days than he asked for, but it took some preparation, and he waited for the day Rick came back from the funeral to call Jerzei back for the unveiling. Rick had arrived just ahead of their finals results, and now Rick, Vyvyan and Neil sat reading them. Mike was in the hallway, dressed to the nines in his lucky sunglasses, tie, suit and socks, pacing and trying to pretend like he wasn't. Rick read his results with increasing panic. He turned the paper over and over in his hands, faster and faster until he couldn't possibly be reading it.

"LAST??? ABSOLUTELY BLOODY LAST??? How is that even possible? There were people who didn't even _show up_ to the final! All of my professors loved me! Everybody loved me! How am I supposed to support myself? What am I supposed to do stuck here with you stupid, boring, pigheaded fascists?!"

"Shut up, spazmo! I'm trying to read my results!"

"I read mine in about ten seconds, are you dyslexic or something?"

Vyvyan lunged for Rick's neck and they scuffled on the sofa.

"Cool it, guys," Mike said, walking in calmly from the hallway, "We've got to be cool when Balowski gets here."

"Mike!" Rick demanded as he stormed over to him, "What is this stupid plan of yours anyway?"

"Yeah," Vyvyan crossed over to them as well, "Spill it."

"Yeah," Neil joined them, and they surrounded Mike, "What's the deal?"

"Now, now, boys let's all just sit on it a moment, shall we?"

"Eugh," Rick shivered and made a face, "Did you have to put it that way?" Mike gave him a warning look before continuing.

"Just hold on, nobody's explaining anything until Balowski gets here. We get less argument that way, and I don't have to repeat myself. Trust me, guys. You're going to like this plan. Just follow my lead, keep your mouths shut and we'll be sitting pretty before you know it. Rick, that goes double for you, for fuck's sake, keep your mouth shut, I don't want to end up in the fucking Thames."

The doorbell rang and everybody looked at Neil, who started to protest before thinking better of it and just getting the door.

"Ah, speak of the devil."

*****

_A debonair, well-dressed gentleman with a trimmed goatee and small, unobtrusive horns adjusts his tie, "I rather doubt that." He grins and waggles his eyebrows._

*****

Mike smiled as Balowski came through the entryway, suspicious and already annoyed.

"All right Mikey-boy, whatta ya' got? Make it quick."

"Listen, Jerz, my friends and I are comfortable here. We've got into a groove, why uproot?"

"Convince me."

"I propose we stick around. Every few years we change the names on the lease, keep the powers that be off our backs, and we continue to stay here indefinitely."

"This ought to be good. How do you suggest I benefit from this?"

"By making ourselves useful, and providing you with kickbacks from our own… enterprises. An effective rent, as it were. I've got it all laid out right here," Mike pulled a very professional-looking leather folder from under his arm and handed it to him. Balowski opened it and looked surprised.

"This is a contract."

"You're damn right it's a contract, and my lawyer can certify it's a well-written and legally-fucking-binding one at that, I may be a crook and an idiot, but I'm no fool."

Jerzei perused the contract, flipping through the pages with a bored expression, "Talk to me."

"How does a base of operations sound? Meeting ground, hideout, comes complete with your own built-in criminal network. A collection of four dedicated fellows ready to perform a list of tasks, helpfully itemized in Section B2 including, but not limited to: con artistry, theft, forgery, fraud, fencing, and so much more."

" _How_ much?"

"It's all spelt out in Section C, but," he clapped a hand on Vyvyan's shoulder and led him front and center, "allow me to introduce you to three of your newest recruits."

*****

"Vyvyan, your classic bruiser and persuasion agent. Need to beat something out of, or into, somebody? You come to Vyv."

Vyvyan smiled. 'Persuasion agent,' he liked that, it was classy. And it would be nice to get back into hired thuggery – it had been somewhat of a hobby in his younger years. He liked this plan.

"Our Vyv is also well on his way to a medical degree, and between us, he's smart as a whip."

Vyvyan actually blushed, "Nah, stop it, Mike," he grinned in embarrassment and kicked at the ground.

"No, no, Vyvyan, leave the modesty to the clergy," he clapped him on the back, "Tell you what, Jerz. One of your boys gets in a tousle, he needs fixing up without too many questions? You send him to Vyv – for a fee, of course. First job's free." He lowered his sunglasses and winked.

Jerzei considered a moment, "I like it. Go on."

Mike released Vyvyan and moved on.

*****

"Neil, hippie and therefore marijuana cultivation expert with his own built-in clientele. Instant and steady money. It's a well known fact in life, a hippie always has enough cash for hash."

"Hey-" Neil began, but stopped himself. Actually, that was very accurate. Just last week he'd had a rousing debate with Warlock over indoor growing techniques. His friends would be happy to buy from him, if he only had the right setup. Mike was right – had it occurred to him, (and had his parents not cut him off entirely, preventing him from procuring any of the needed supplies) he would have been doing it years ago. An opportunity to spend hours on end counseling plants, smoking pot and getting paid for it? He liked this plan.

"Can I set up in the cellar?" He was genuinely excited.

"Of course, Neil, that was just my thought."

Jerzei smirked, "A little small-time, but you have a point. It'll do. Nicely."

*****

Rick moped through all of it. So what? Nothing for him to do but wait for them to kick him out. It was a complete surprise to him when Mike grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him forward.

"Rick here has come into a bit of money."

"No I haven't. I would have if I didn't have literally the worst grades in the whole world-" Mike squeezed his shoulder and he remembered about keeping quiet and the Thames.

"Ah see, but you forget Rick, the Dean is a close, personal friend. I'm sure we could work something out."

"How much are we talking about here?"

Rick opened his mouth and Mike squeezed his shoulder again, much harder. He closed it.

"Let's not bother figures at this stage, we can talk amendments later, let's just get through the pitch. I'm talking clean investment capital for our future dirty enterprises. Equipment for Neil and Vyv. Miscellaneous securities. Maybe a couple of business-related renovations."

"That's all well and good, but this one smells like a narc. What's his specialty, then?"

"Expert pain in the arse," Vyvyan muttered, and Rick shot him a glare.

"Ah, don't worry about Rick, kid's just new to the game, but we'll keep him busy," Mike said reassuringly, allowing Rick to escape his grasp, "Call him an apprentice."

"And what about you?"

"Me?" Mike shot him a winning smile, "I'm an ideas man, Jerz. And you've seen the sort of ideas I can come up with." He gestured to the contract clutched in Jerzei's hand, "Trust me, there's a sucker born every minute and I intend to be there to collect as they come down the chute. Not to mention, I'm the one with a man on the inside. You don't take me, you don't get him. Think of me as a planner, a supervisor-"

"A boss?" Jerzei raised an amused eyebrow. Mike smiled wider.

"Sure, if you like. You need something from these boys, you come to me."

Jerzei appraised all of them for a long time and Mike almost let his smile falter. He opened the folder and read through the contract again. All four took a collective deep breath.

"I like your style, Mikey-boy." He closed the folder and held out his hand for Mike to shake, "We're in business. Come on, let's talk shop, get this son-of-a-bitch signed and seal it with a fucking drink."

"Done," Mike shook heartily and they sat down at the kitchen table to squabble over details of the contract. The other three watched them intently, although none of them understood it. All they knew was when Jerzei Balowski stood up again, he wasn't only their landlord, he was their boss. Specifically, he was Mike's boss, and of course Mike was already theirs. They were officially criminals, affiliated with the mob, and they weren't sure whether Mike was a mad genius, had just swindled a small-time mafia agent, or had just swindled all of them.

Mike retrieved a bottle of aged brandy he kept in his room for extremely special occasions, and he and Jerzei even let the other three have some, although Vyvyan downed all of his in one go and Rick and Neil made faces and left half each in their glasses, which Vyvyan also drank. Mike walked Jerzei to the door and they shook again before he opened it.

"See you soon, boys. Let's hope this is the start of a nefarious relationship!"

The door closed behind their new business partner and the four of them released a collective breath.

Neil leapt up, "I'm going to go clean up the cellar, I've got a lot of planning to do!"

Rick sidled up to Mike with a sycophantic smile.

"Do you really think of me as your apprentice, Mike?"

"Nah, Rick, that'd be Vyvyan if it were anybody."

"Ha!" Vyvyan rushed over to gloat in Rick's face, " _ME_ if it were anybody!"

Rick kicked him in the shin.

"Well what about me, then? What am I good for?"

"I told you," Vyvyan said over his shoulder, hopping and holding his shin, "Nothing!" He hopped back around, stomped on Rick's foot and smacked him so hard he fell over, splaying out on the floor and glaring back up at Vyvyan with vitriol.

"Now, now, Vyv, let's not be hasty. I was serious about one thing, we'll keep him busy," Mike looked down at Rick over the top of his sunglasses, "He'll keep busy or he'll be out on his lily orphaned arse."

Rick scowled. He wasn't sure he liked this plan.

*****

The boys soon settled into a comfortable routine. Balowski would come to Mike with work, Mike would delegate as he saw fit, which typically (if it involved any sort of thinking or finances) meant he or occasionally he and Vyvyan did all the work. He often came up with schemes of his own, and spent most of his time out of the house or in the middle of something (or several somethings), just like always.

Vyvyan enjoyed a steady stream of orders to beat up rival gang members and loan shark welchers, and occasionally work as a bouncer at a metal club owned by one of Balowski's cousins. Mike apparently did want an apprentice, because he began training him in the various con arts almost immediately, and provided him with special projects. By the time school started again, he had to schedule study sessions around work.

Neil took to his role like a fish to water, and the cellar became his oasis from the chaos of the house. His friends flocked to his services, and even provided seeds and other supplies of their own to his efforts. He began cultivating new strands and experimenting with edibles, culminating in a Hash-Lentil Upside-Down Cake that was quite possibly the most horrific and spectacularly potent food ever created. It became a best-seller, and his profits surprised even Jerzei.

Rick found things to do. Even if it meant playing gofer for Mike, helping the others with easy grunt-work, or being lookout (and when that didn't work out so well, lookout for the lookout). When he got lazy, Mike never hesitated to remind him that the checks being delivered to the house in Rick's name on a bi-annual basis were the only reason he had a bed. In the end, he was more of an assistant, and had he more talent in anything he might well have been another apprentice of a sort. He spent the entire summer complaining and writing poetry about his being oppressed and being generally irritable, so not much changed for him either.

Once they'd started generating income, Mike set up a distribution system – after removing Balowski's percentage, and the cut for his accountant, whatever they made that week was split in half, and the half that wasn't Mike's was split three ways. They were fairly sure this was the way Mike was distributing the money, as he never really told them. They just did as they were told, gave Mike any money they made on their own, and at the end of the week, if Mike decided they'd earned it, they got paid. The summer flew by in a flash, and by the end of it, life had resumed very much as it was, though they all had a little more cash in their pockets than they ever had as students, and all of them, except Rick, were a little happier. Mike was right; all-in-all, they were far better off.

_Whew! That was close!_


End file.
